All I Can Breathe is Your Life
by JennaKaylor
Summary: Sometimes to move on, you have to live for someone else.. Wyatt POV Season One and will bleed into Season Two


Possibilities.

The word gave Wyatt Logan pause. He hadn't thought about the possibilities of life in a long time. Not since Jessica died. But there had been something about Lucy that opened this eyes to the world outside of his own misery.

Maybe it was the shine in her eyes when she would step off the lifeboat into a new time that she had only taught in her classes. Maybe it was the faintly lecturing tone her voice would take while she would explain something that was obvious to _her_ but not to him. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the way she would melt against him, only for a few moments – before she could pull herself together, when he would pull her to him.

She made him feel lighter somehow. More open to the world in a way that he had never been before. Lucy was the compass he hadn't known he wanted, let alone needed.

Wyatt could hardly remember the boy he had been when he married Jessica and promised to build a life and family with her.

They had been apart most of their marriage. Military life wasn't easy. Delta Force made it less so. There would be weeks when he wouldn't be able to contact her. When he would finally come home she would be thrilled for about a week, until she realized she was living with a stranger. A stranger who would jump at the smallest noise, the slightest touch. A stranger who would hear explosions in the silence and the screams of dying men in his sleep.

She would complain when he numbed the noise with a fifth of vodka and he would turn on the Logan charm until she was convinced he would go talk to someone about the demons that rattled around in his head, but he never did. She tried, God bless her, to get past his walls and he shut her down.

The straw that broke the camel's proverbial back in their marriage was when he had come back from this fourth tour in Afghanistan. He would yell, snap at her for no reason. She didn't even try anymore. He had slept on the couch the last three months of his marriage.

Those black years after Jessica died were the worst Wyatt could remember. Between drinking himself into a mind numbing false sense of peace that would never last, he threw himself into missions taking more risks than he had ever before. It gotten so bad his Command Sergeant Major had put him on leave, effective immediately.

It had the opposite effect from what everyone had been hoping. He had gone to the NCO club and had proceeded to get himself blind drunk. Literally. When he woke up the next morning with a pounding head and cottonmouth, he had automatically thrown off the covers and had started to get out of bed until he realized he wasn't alone.

Long blonde hair tangled over his dark pillowcases, creamy colored limbs strewn about the bed. For a heart stopping instant he thought he had dreamed it all up. The fight, leaving Jessica on the side of the road in a drunken rage while he had taken 20 minutes to calm down, the desperate search that had ended in the police finding her body naked and strangled.

He had grabbed at her shoulder before he had taken another thought, happiness bubbled up into this heart only to be shattered when a face he didn't recognize stared back at him. He had jerked away from the bed and into the bathroom. He couldn't remember if he had said anything to her. He couldn't even remember her name. All he knew was he never wanted to see her again.

He had taken a shower hot enough to melt his skin off, ripped the sheets off the bed and threw them away. He had just disrespected Jessica and his marriage in a way he could never take back. A new bed had been delivered the day after, but he still couldn't bring himself to sleep in the room that he had shared with Jess. The room he had disrespected her memory in.

A year later he had gotten into a comfortable routine of going to work and getting drunk in the evenings and passing out on his couch.

It was a Monday night and Wyatt was just starting to get buzzed from third glass of whiskey when a knock on the door roused him from his daily routine of misery. An official looking man with a shiny badge and a pensive look was at his door. He swirled the whiskey in the short glass and downed the contents in one gulp. It was a matter of life and death, they told him. Homeland needed him to come right now to San Francisco.

He didn't even ask for specifics. He knew he wouldn't get any until he reached his destination. Instead he grabbed his go-bag and weapon and was whisked to the private airfield on Pendleton. 45 minutes later he was in the city by the bay, being escorted into a non-descript hangar and then into a small room. Used to what people in the military affectionately call "hurry up and wait", he settled into one of the chairs to get some sleep.

A hour later, the door opened again and Lucy Preston entered his life. He cracked his eyelids when the door opened, and his first thought was _Pretty_.

Dark hair and ivory skin, chocolate colored eyes. He couldn't get a good look after she sat down, but he could hear the uncertainty in her voice. He would bet his paycheck she was no soldier, but there was something about her. Something that commanded his undivided attention.

She had started asking him questions after a few minutes. _Are you asleep? Do you know why we are here?_ He had answered her questions without opening his eyes _No Ma'am. No idea, Ma'am._ He couldn't help but to be amused by her exasperated huff, _you know,_ _we're pretty much_ _the same age, so you_ _can just_ _stop calling me Ma'am_ _._

He opened his eyes and really looked at her for the first time, a small smile creasing his face. His initial reaction to her had been wrong. She wasn't just pretty, she was beautiful.

Thankfully Wyatt didn't have time to ponder his thoughts about the pretty brown-haired girl with the longest legs he had ever seen. Another bomb had been dropped on them both.

Time travel was real and a crazy ex NSA agent, Garcia Flynn, had killed his family and had stolen what they called "the mothership **."** He had traveled back in time to the Hindenburg disaster in the 1930's.

From that moment on Rufus, the pilot, Lucy, the historian and Wyatt, the soldier were to be a team.

Lucy alternately annoyed then exasperated him. She was like an itch he couldn't seem to quite scratch, bothering him on an elemental level while at the same time making him smile. It startled him at first, that ticklish warmth that would spread from his chest and lit up his face. It seemed so spontaneous, so out of his control it almost frightened him.

He wasn't supposed to feel this way about anyone. Not anymore. Not when it was his fault Jessica wasn't there with him. He wasn't supposed to feel this overwhelming urge to protect her, to comfort her. But every time his hand sought hers it was like a piece of a puzzle locking into place. There was no reason for it.

As the missions grew more and more intense, it was Lucy he looked to when he found himself spiraling out of control. She needed him to be her rock. He needed her to be his sanity.

PTSD wasn't something that happened to soldiers like Wyatt Logan. It happened to other people. Weaker people. But there was no denying it had happened to him when they went back to help the people of The Alamo.

Agent Christopher from Homeland had already told him that this was going to be his last mission. He had been chosen to kill Garcia Flynn and had not delivered. He knew the guy they were bringing in. Bam Bam was a good soldier. He had no doubt that he would be able to succeed where he had failed. The mission came first, however, and he was not about to fuck it up.

Protecting Lucy and Rufus was the mission this time. Nothing else, no one else, mattered. At least that is what he told himself as he walked around the compound knowing that every man here was going to die.

He was a proud Texan. He knew the story of the Alamo better than he knew the story of Christ. The brave people of the Alamo against Santa Anna and the mighty Mexican Army was legend. He had visited the site with his Grandpa Sherwin when he was a child and had found it fascinating. There was nothing fascinating about it now.

Imminent death was everywhere, in every face he saw. Somehow Flynn had seen to it that the battle be started early and that the women and children would not be able to escape. Lucy and Rufus worked to get a way out while Wyatt had worked with the men to fortify the compound. It reminded him too much of his last mission in Afghanistan.

Pinned down, out manned and out gunned. He started seeing people who weren't there. His soldiers that he had left behind to die so he could get vital intelligence out. He saw Zachary, his best friend, packing the case that held the vital recordings against the Taliban. They had flipped a coin and now Wyatt was going to live because Zach was going to die.

Lucy had found him as he reached for the case from a man who wasn't there. _Rufus and I aren't having any luck. You_ _?_ He'd told her to keep looking but she knew something was wrong. _Are you okay?_ He turned on the Logan charm with what he thought was a confident _yeah_ , but unlike Jessica, Lucy wasn't convinced. She had reluctantly walked away, and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

He didn't know how far down the rabbit hole he had gone until the fighting started.

He didn't feel the heat of the Texas sun, he felt the heat of the Kandahar province his unit had been assigned to protect. He didn't see Mexican soldiers, he saw the Taliban. He didn't hear Spanish, he heard Pashtun. Cannon fire had turned to incoming mortar attacks. Rifles became AK-47s. In his mind, he was killing the terrorists that killed his men. Buying them time so _they_ could live. The scales dropped from his eyes when he felt Lucy's small hand on his thigh.

 _Rufus did it! There's a way out! Come on, let's go!_ He pulled her back toward him the same time she had sprung forward, shielded her body with his. He looked at her but didn't really see her. _I'm not going_ ** _,_** ****he told her as he primed his weapon to shoot again. She had protested loudly. He shook his head at her. She wouldn't understand. How could she? _I can't leave good men like this. Not again_ _._ He primed the weapon again, took another shot. She protested again and he couldn't take it anymore. _What_ _difference_ _does it ma_ _ke_ _? Jessica_ _—_ _everyone I care about is gone. Let me do one good thing. Let me buy you_ _the_ _time to get out._

There was no way he could explain it to her. He didn't deserve to live while these men died. Not again.

No one needed him. No one depended on him. After this mission he wasn't even going to be on the team anymore, so what the fuck did it matter if he died there? He needed her to go. He needed her to survive. He turned to her again, his mouth opening, fully intending on tell her to find Rufus and get the hell out of there, when she grabbed his face.

She shook him and said **,** _I don't want anyone else. I trust you. You're the one that I trust. Rufus needs you. I need you, okay?_ He really looked at her then. Truly saw her for the first time since the fighting started. Dark wide eyes that were filled with panic and confusion **,** her face that was streaked with dirt and sweat, her hair falling out of the simple braid she had put it in before they left. She needed him, and no one had needed him in a very long time.

It had been hard to leave behind the good men of The Alamo. Buck Travis, Davy Crockett and James Bowie were not only legends, they were now his comrades in arms.

The ticklish warmth returned once they were back in their own time. Agent Christopher's boss tried to relieve Wyatt from duty for not killing Flynn but Lucy and Rufus wouldn't have it. They refused to go on any more missions unless Wyatt was with them. Suddenly the rag tag band of misfits had finally become a team.

They fought for him. They fought for each other. They fought with each other. Trust was given, then lost, then given back. They had found a rhythm that suited them before he fucked it all up and kissed Lucy.

He didn't have a choice. They sat across from the most romantic, albeit fucked up, couple he had ever met. A couple who talked about destiny like they were the Romeo and Juliet of the 1900's. He hadn't meant to do it. It hadn't been part of the plan. Pretending to be lovers had been the best cover option available. Especially since Lucy had still been wearing her damn engagement ring from her "fiancé."

Bonnie asked how he proposed. He told the story about himself and Jessica upon the sun-drenched hill under the tree where he first kissed her. He could see Lucy out of the corner of his eye staring at him, almost entranced by the side of him he never showed her. Bonnie sighed, loving the romance of his story. Clyde, on the other hand, shot him a look he couldn't interpret. Kissing Lucy was the only option. They had to make it look as real as possible or God only knew what would have happened.

He couldn't tell you who had been more surprised, him or Lucy. It wasn't how he had envisioned kissing her (and yes, he had thought about it more than he should have.) There was no candle light or soft music playing. He hadn't planned on putting the ghost of Jessica smack down in between them, but her lips were as sweet as they looked, her skin soft under his palm. The kiss hadn't lasted more than thirty seconds but time had seemed to stretch into minutes.

He could feel her soft exhales against his cheek, felt more than heard the sigh she let out when his lips left hers. Her small hand was warm and soft against his cheek. Her dark eyes, always so expressive, seemed to stare into his soul. He looked away first, uncomfortable with all of it, and downed his drink after Clyde's toast to true love. True love from two killers? What a bunch of bullshit.

The small bed he had shared with Lucy was uncomfortable. The mattress was lumpy, the sheets smelled like hooch and stale cigarettes, but the military had conditioned his body to sleep anywhere and on anything. That wasn't why he was uncomfortable.

Lucy was pressed against his side, the smell of her skin and the vanilla she habitually smelled like wafted over him. How the hell was he supposed to be of use to anyone when he had the memory of his dead wife in his brain and Lucy's taste in his mouth? It didn't help matters that he could hear Bonnie and Clyde _expressing_ their love for one another _loudly_ on the other side of the curtain that separated them.

 _The engagement story you told? That was how you proposed to Jessica._ He stared hard at the ceiling. What could he say? _If there is only one person for you in the whole world and you lose them, does that mean you have to live the rest of your life without anyone else?_

It wasn't like he hadn't thought about it. Especially after all this time travel crap started. He wasn't blind, deaf or stupid. He knew Lucy was attracted to him, just like he was to her. He tried to push it out of his mind, even made a joke about it when they got back.

 _I'll see you later, Babydoll._ She had laughed at him and replied, _See you around, Sweetheart_ _._ He walked away from her with a sense that everything had changed.

No amount of denial could change the fact that she was an integral part of his life.

His day wasn't the same if he didn't hear her voice, listen to her laugh. It wasn't the same unless she was curled up in his favorite University of Texas throw, watching movies on his ancient couch. He spent almost every night teaching her how to cook in his small galley kitchen, while she was teaching him how to live his life again.

The good days had started to outweigh the bad **.** He laughed more than he had in a very long time, his smiles came easier than before. They went out to dinner, to movies, to baseball games, to museums.

He collected a thousand little memories of her without realizing he was doing it; A magnet on his fridge of the two of them at an amusement park, a baseball in his closet that he caught for her at the last baseball game they had gone to, a video on his phone of her cooking, pictures in his phone of the two of them doing random things. He knew something fundamental was changing, he just didn't know what it was.

There was a certain level of intimacy that had developed between them, a trust that he wasn't sure had been there before 1934.

He trusted her, she knew that. He had told her as much on numerous occasions. He trusted her now with his secrets, with parts of himself that he had deliberately closed off. Conversations in the dark with her laid out across his couch, wrapped in his blanket, her feet on his lap were the ones he liked best.

He learned things about her in the whispered darkness and in turn, she learned about him. Insignificant things, stupid things that didn't mean a whole lot in the grand scheme of things. Then there were the important things. Things whispered in the shadows that he never had any intention of repeating.

She listened, asked him questions like she was interested in his answers. There were nights when he felt like he couldn't refuse her any question she asked. He told her about why he joined the ARMY, what he and Jessica had been fighting about the night she died, about the woman he woke up to in his bed. He watched her face as he told her and, through the soft shaft of moonlight coming through his windows, he watched her reaction. He watched as her fascinating eyes slid into his and her gaze softened.

 _You're always so hard on yourself. Would it be that bad to fall in love again?_ The hand that has been idly stroking her shin stilled for a moment before he resumed the gentle caress. _I haven't thought about it_ , he lied. _But I do know this_ _,_ _I love like a madman._ The bitter chuckle he let out surprised him. At her curious glance, he elaborated. _Jealous, possessive- I can act like a caveman. I would want everything from you, physically and emotionally, until you have nothing left to give anyone else._

He reached for his forgotten beer on the end table next to him to soothe his suddenly dry throat. He hadn't realized he had made it less about _him_ and more about _them_.

She murmured something and suddenly she was sitting in his lap and he was settling her against him, wrapping the blanket around them both before cradling her back with one strong arm. She ran her hand through his hair and then rested it on the side of his face. _Maybe it won't be so bad this time._

He brought his hand up her back to toy with the ends of her hair. _No, it would be worse. I was a boy when I married Jess. I know what I want now and I know what it's like to lose it._ He huffed out a laugh, turning his face into the hand that still cradled his cheek. _Sometimes I overwhelm myself._

She laughed then, an intimate laugh he felt deep in his soul. _You need someone to set limits. Someone who isn't afraid to tell you no._ She caressed his cheek lightly while he mulled over her words. _Maybe._ He conceded, his hand still toying with her hair. His smile was wry against the hand she had on his face. _I don't know anyone willing to take on a damaged soldier with commitment issues, do you?_

She only smiled, reaching up to press a sweet kiss against his forehead. To his immortal embarrassment, he felt tears sting his eyes at the intimate gesture. If she saw them she didn't say anything, only held him tighter as she buried her face in his neck. He woke the next morning with his cheek pillowed against her hair.

And then she was gone.

And it was his fault – _again_.


End file.
